


Another Kind of Lesson

by Twisted_Mind



Series: Hermione in Authority [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cruelty, Dubious Consent, F/F, Female Character In Command, Humiliation, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Minor Violence, Not Happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2018-01-24 11:18:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1603226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Pansy thinks herself the perfect Slytherin, it's up to Hermione to teach her that rules do, in fact, apply to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Kind of Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted Aug 23rd 2012 at HP Fandom. Betaed by GhostxWriter, and edited upon re-posting here. 
> 
> Disclaimer: While I highly doubt that events below ever truly happened at Hogwarts, how amazing would I be if they did? I would never have left such events out of the books ... (thus, sadly, I am not JKR)

Pansy had thought herself the consummate Slytherin--sneaky, cunning, and exempt from the rules. Free to do whatever she pleased, _when_ ever she pleased, and slippery enough to get away with it.   
  
Pansy thought wrong.   
  
The Gryffindor prefect had been trudging back to the Tower, her bag laden with books and slowing her down, when she heard it. Her ears pricking, Hermione followed the faint sounds to their source--Pansy Parkinson, a bottle of illicit, shimmering potion in her hand and a guilty expression on her face, trying to close the door to an unused classroom behind her.   
  
Hermione snapped.   
  
Her wand was out in the blink of an eye, and the tip of it was pressed against Pansy's pale throat a fraction of a second later. Without a word, Hermione backed the blonde Slytherin girl into the classroom she'd just exited and closed the door behind them. Stopping her advance, Hermione hissed "Sit!" with enough venom to make Pansy afraid.   
  
Pansy sat.   
  
Her face set and her eyes glittering dangerously, Hermione held out her hand without a word. Pansy didn't pretend to misunderstand. She handed over the potion bottle with a convulsive swallow. The Slytherin wondered what the prefect would do to her.   
  
She didn't have to wait long to find out.   
  
"I cannot believe your sheer arrogance, Parkinson. Not only are you out past curfew, but you're also brewing illegal potions," Hermione snarled, her voice low, as she gestured to Pansy's recently-used brewing equipment. "This goes beyond deducting points or giving detention. You do realize that I am well within my rights to take this to your Head of House? Or the Headmaster? I could have you _expelled_ for this," Hermione went on.   
  
Pansy was only half-listening.   
  
She wasn't giving Hermione's words the attention they deserved because she was mesmerized by the girl herself. Her eyes snapping and her skin glowing with barely-restrained rage, Hermione looked like an angel of wrath. What was more, she had the power to make good on her threats. Pansy felt her belly suffuse with warmth, and her tongue darted out to moisten her suddenly dry lips. When Hermione slapped her for not paying attention, a quiet moan--not of pain--escaped her lips, and she fervently hoped that Hermione wouldn't notice.   
  
Hermione noticed.   
  
With a subtle flick of a wand, Pansy found herself bound to the chair she sat in. Her vision grew hazy as her pupils dilated, and she fought to keep her breathing even. But Pansy's fair complexion betrayed her, as even in the dim light, the blood colouring her cheeks was visible.   
  
Hermione was too smart to misunderstand.   
  
"Why you _sick_ , twisted . . . you're getting off on this!" she cried incredulously. Then she laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. "Well, well, well, Parkinson. For all the pureblood propaganda you're so found of spouting, it's ironic that it's come to this. You want me. Not just a Muggleborn, but another woman." Pansy hadn't known Hermione's voice could be so cruel. "What would they say if they knew that you wanted me?" With another subtle wand flick, Pansy's clothes had been spelled off, and she sat naked, still bound to the chair.   
  
She gasped.   
  
The conjured ropes were tight and unforgiving against her bare skin, and if Pansy wasn't careful, they could easily rub her raw. But it was the way she was held open and exposed that caused her to tremble. Her legs were spread, her ankles tied to the legs to of the chair, and her arms bound behind her back. Heat was rapidly pooling between her thighs, and she knew that if Hermione looked, she would see how slick Pansy had become.   
  
Hermione looked.   
  
Then the Gryffindor took three steps, bringing herself right in front of the bound rule-breaker. She leaned down, and--with a sympathetic expression on her face--asked softly, "Oh, Pansy. Do you want me to fuck you?"   
  
Pansy whimpered.   
  
And then she was there--two of those ink-stained fingers were roughly thrust inside Pansy, where they were pushing and digging and twisting, so _hard_ . . . they were rubbing and hitting and shoving, slamming in further and harder and faster, and it tingled, it hurt, oh it burned, but then Hermione's thumb was pushing against her clit, and Pansy's body jerked and trembled as she came. Pansy was coming and Hermione's perfect, cruel fingers never stopped torturing her tender flesh. When it was over, and the only sound in the room was Pansy's harsh breathing, Hermione flexed her fingers, still buried inside the Slytherin girl, and whispered, "Was that what you wanted?"   
  
Pansy nodded.   
  
Hermione pulled her hand away from between the pale thighs, and--slick and shiny from Pansy's orgasm--slapped her across the face. "You disgust me," Hermione said coldly, before flicking her wand to dissolve the ropes and leaving silently.   
  
As Pansy sat there, with her cunt throbbing and her face stinging from the slap, with her juices leaking over the chair, still naked and starting to shiver from the chill, she thought _I disgust me, too._   
  
Because as sick as it was, Pansy wanted her to do it again.   
  
  
  



End file.
